Page 149 of Happily Never After

The seconds stretched like hours as she stared at the garden. Leaves rustled in the tree.

Finally, two cop cars and a black sedan pulled up. Detective Smith jumped out of the sedan and slammed his car door. Latex gloves slid on with a snap.

“I think you should look here,” Claire addressed the detective, pointing to the base of the tree.

“Seal the perimeter,” he said over his shoulder to the cops.

“Thank you for the tip, but I need you to get off the bank grounds. This is a potential crime scene.”

Claire sighed. She had basically wrapped the professor up with a bow and handed him to the FBI, and they still couldn’t catch him. Now she was being banished from another break in the case.

“That’s Barney’s favorite restaurant on the corner right there. Perfect view of the courtyard from the table in the window. I’m just saying.” She pointed at the restaurant, then walked off, too irritated to stick around and snoop. It could be hours before they actually did any digging.

When Claire and Mindy got back to her car a few minutes later, a note was sitting on her windshield. Either someone was trying to tell her about a sale on Polish pottery, or ESA knew she was back in West Haven. Claire looked up at the stars.

“Why?” she half-yelled at the Big Dipper. She looked down at the stupid piece of paper, ready to just throw it in the trash. Knowing the contents of this note would change nothing. But if she did that, she’d be driving back here in the middle of the night and digging through the trash can. You never knew what you’d find in a West Haven trash can. One time, an unhoused person searching for food had found a dismembered finger.

“Not another note.” Mindy groaned. “Should we call the police?”

“What’s the point? At best, they’ll check traffic cams and find some faceless hoodie-wearing idiot dropping this note.” Claire turned counterclockwise, staring slowly into each dark corner. There wasn’t anyone lurking behind the concession stand at the park or staring at her from outside the shoe store on the corner. The taco truck had disappeared.

“Screw it.” She dug in her purse and pulled out a pair of rubber gloves. At this point, they were a permanent fixture in her purse due to the sheer number of times she was required to handle potential evidence.

She clumsily unfolded the note and held it up to the streetlight. Magazine letters were cut out and pasted onto a piece of paper. What was this, an old-timey ransom note? Someone had too much time on their hands.

Blood is thicker than water.

A smudgeof red liquid clung to the bottom of the note. She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the science lesson, idiots,” she called to the empty parking lot, just in case someone was listening. A couple walking by with a Shiba Inu exchanged a concerned look and quickened their pace.

She sealed the note in a plastic sandwich bag and threw it in her purse with a mind to take it to Detective Smith tomorrow morning. She already knew what they would find—absolutely nothing.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

To Do:

- Follow up with Detective S

- Pick up Heather from the airport

“What isthe minimum length of time a couple needs to have dated before applying for our services?” Claire rapid-fired the question at Heather over the top of her menu.

An impressive chandelier hung above them. The scent of garlic and cream clung to the air. Couples chatted at the white-linen-covered tables around them. Claudia and Tyrell, their latest West Haven couple, sat a few tables away, staring dreamily into each other’s eyes as they shared a calamari appetizer. Candlelight flickered between them.

“One year,” Heather said.

Claire nodded. Heather had clearly read the employee handbook and guidelines. Claire hadn’t managed to stump her once.

Heather acted like she was trying to catch the overhead light to read her menu and stole a glance at the couple. “Oh good, he’s been so polite to the waiter.”

Claire nodded and lowered her voice. “Her too. They’re honestly adorable. I just want to take them home with me.”

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Heather whispered.

Claire glanced down at the laminated sheet she had tucked in her menu. “She said they hadn’t broached one of the big five—which are?”

“Finances, children, division of household chores, communication styles, love languages.”

Claire held out her hand for a fist bump. “You’ve clearly done your reading.”

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